


Missing Part of the Story

by Captain_Ne



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Be Gentle With Me, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Ne/pseuds/Captain_Ne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo reflects and thinks back on the parts of his adventures that are never put down in history or even his book. Not even told to Frodo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my dear friend Non User Friendly for telling me that wasn't a big ball of terrible.

_There were many things that Bilbo had never told Frodo about his adventures, some because he'd always felt that his cousin was to young and other because they still caused a deep ache in his chest even all these years later. Some things Bilbo had no plans of putting into his book; the tale of his adventure would be enough. Other things would stay in his heart and that is where they would always stay. They would be forgotten at his passing and the passing of the remaining company. It was one of those things that Bilbo had always kept locked away inside that Frodo asked him in the days before the party. A simple question and Frodo only asked because Bilbo made a simple mistake. He had left his belt hanging from a hook in the bathroom; it was a fine leather belt that had been gifted to him by Ori when his own clothing had been near destroyed on their quest. The young hobbit walked out into the garden where Bilbo sat smoking his pipe, holding it in his hands. One hand holding the weight of a set of four sheaths clustered together on the ring side of the belt where they would rest at his hip within easy range of his hand._

_“Uncle Bilbo, why do you carry knives like these? I've never seen anything like them in the Shire.” The young hobbit sat beside his cousin and looked over the thin handles. They each had a thick curved handle, each carved with a rune that Frodo could not recognize and the blades where as wickedly curved as there handles. Almost like the blades that he'd seen used to clear away brush. They weren't ornate but the runes in the handle, a hard but intricate carving through the blades and the well cared for leather of the sheaths made them beautiful._

_Bilbo set down his pipe and took the belt, weaving it through the loops on his pants before buckling it firmly. “Of course you haven't. They are from Erebor, one of my souvenirs from my adventure.” He pulled his waist coat over them and they vanished from view. Even when he sat, one would never see the blades he wore._

_“By why wear them here? You've said that there's no safer place then the Shire.” Frodo asked in confusion._

_“Don't question the old habits of an old hobbit.” He blew out a large smoke ring and was determined to say no more about the subject._

_Frodo shook his head. “Alright Uncle.” He left Bilbo in the garden with his pipe. His wrinkled hand reached down to touch the shape under his waist coat. That was a story that he wouldn't be telling, though it was bright and clear in his memory even now._

* * *

 

            The night was blessedly quiet and after the last few days Bilbo was in need of such quiet. What with the Stone Giants, falling into a mountain, facing down Azog, their escape by eagles and the long tiring journey off of the cassock a calm night was just what the Company needed. Most of the dwarves where sitting around the fire, picking thru the remaining supplies they had. Bombur was cooking a few rabbits over the fire; Kili had been able to hunt down a few so even with their meager supplies they would have a good meal. Bilbo had sat away from the group outside the ring of firelight and dwarves. While his pack was gone, along with the buttons of his waist coat, he was also missing two of his three knives. They weren't a matching set and the two that had been lost to him in his fall where not his preferred. He was glad that he hadn't lost the one he still had. A wicked curved knife meant for someone much bigger than him by the size, but a trusted tool and weapon. Though he had yet to use it for the latter.

            It wasn't very hobbit like to keep a blade in ones belt other than as a tool, but Bilbo was a gentlehobbit so another Tookish quality to him. Running the stone over the blade to sharpen it, he smiled to himself. The sharpness of his blade was a small pride to him and helps his nerves at the end of a long day. His hand moving in the long practiced movement, almost finished with his task when something behind him spooked the poor hobbit. He turned and the knife left his hand in a long practiced movement. Barely a sound but his breath leaving his mouth in an exhale, the thunk of the knife burying itself in a tree and the yelp of alarm from Bofur. The dwarf had come to get Bilbo for supper and if not for a dodge to the left his hat would be nailed to the tree with the blade. “Oh! Bofur, I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you did I?”

            Bofur was staring amazed at the knife dug into the tree by his head. “I'm fine laddie. Just a bit of a shock. Came to get you for supper and I am met with a flying knife.” When Bilbo pulled it free and sheathed again did Bofur turn to him. “Here we all thought you had no skill with a blade.”

            The hobbit shrugged it off as casually as talk of the weather. “I have no skill with a sword. None of you asked if I had skill with a knife and I never said that I did. I didn't mean to almost take the top of your head.”

            “I'll accept an apology if you tell me where you learned that trick. There are very few that are skilled with throwing knives even amongst our kind.” Bofur turned with Bilbo beside him to head back to the camp and there waiting supper. “After supper of course, I don't think I could listen to a story with an empty stomach.” To which the Company's Burglar nodded in a silent agreement. Too much excitement on an empty stomach already, no need for storytelling on one as well.

            After he finished his piece of rabbit and had wiped his hands clean did Bofur nudge him with a playful elbow. Giving a put off sigh he adjusted himself on the log he was seated and took the knife out of its sheath to look over it in the firelight. Its appearance in the firelight got the attention of most of the dwarves in their party. Conversation silencing as curiosity grew. “When I was young there was the Fell Winter, orcs and wargs invaded the Shire crossing the frozen Baranduin River. I was out in it one night and would have been killed if not a group of Rangers. I saw one fell an orc with a throwing knife to the skull. Hobbits don't carry weapons, but a knife is a tool. While odd for a gentlehobbit to carry, it was still acceptable. For a long time I taught myself with a kitchen knife in the woods and the woodpile behind Bag End where none would see. Then Hamfast Gamgee saw me doing it one day and it became a party trick to entertain the young ones. Another odd Took trait, that made the neighbors whisper, but I wanted to be prepared if I ever needed the skill.” While he told the story, the blade in his hand was thrown easily into the air and caught a motion done with great ease.

            Balin had been watching the blade travel thru the air with much interest. “May I see your blade, laddie?”

            Bilbo caught it by the blade and passed it to Balin. “I bought it in Bree shortly after I turned 34, broke my fifth kitchen knife. This and two other blades of a lower quality. I lost the other two when I fell, lucky I didn't become a pincushion.”

            The old dwarf turned the blade in the firelight and a smile took over his face. His thumb running over the engraving on the hilt. “There aren't many blades like this one; even Thorin would agree it was impressive.”

            Thorin stood at hearing his name. “What could the Halfing being carrying to inspire such words from you?” He took it when Balin and held it to him. The King's eyes widened when he saw it clearly. “Where did you say you got this?”

            “There was a wagon, ran by dwarves in Bree. My books had told me that dwarvish blades were the best and that is what I had hoped to find that day.” Bilbo had never seen Thorin's face like that. As though he was seeing something that had been lost. It made hope swell in Bilbo's chest, wondering about the look on Thorin's face when he finally saw his long lost Erebor. “Is there something the matter?”

            A moment passed before Thorin reached into his own belt and pulled out a blade identical to Bilbo's. “I made a set of these blades in Erebor when I was young. I lost one when we were flushed from our home. I had always thought that it lay there, but instead it found its way to the hands of a Halfing. There was a set of four.” He turned the handle to Bilbo. “It will be good to see them together again as they were meant to be.”

            Bilbo knew better than to dispute with their leader, especially after having earned his respect such a short time ago. He took the blade and marveled for a moment. They were siblings in almost every way but the one Thorin had bore were carved with runes on the blade. “Thank you, not just for the knives. But for the times this has saved my life.” Nothing as dangerous as orcs, helping to hang a banner from a tree had almost been his end when the ladder had fallen with the rope his chest and throat. If not for his own quick work he would hung till they had managed to cut him down. He still bore a scar on the side of his throat from where the rope had cut into his skin.

            “Then it has served its purpose well.” There was the ghost of a smile on his lips as he left the circle of the fire. Silence over fell the camp again until Kili and Fili pushed Bofur out of the way to get a look at the knives in his lap.

            “Let's see it then. This skill that frightened poor Bofur.” Fili smiled as he settled on one of side of Bilbo. “I have only ever seen one with skill with a blade like that.”

            A blush started to bloom on Bilbo's cheeks. “I am not that skilled, I taught myself.” He had the nicks and scars on his hands to prove that fact. Before he had learned how to properly hold it and throw. Blades having bounced off their targets and coming back for one that threw them.

            Kili nudged him with his shoulder with a smile on his face. “I am self taught at archery. It's not a dwarvish weapon so I taught myself watching the men in the villages. Then I taught Uncle how to fire a bow.”

            His brother nodded. “Come on, Mr. Boggins. Let us decide on your skill. We know the one who taught Uncle Thorin, we will judge you fairly.”

            Shaking his head he stood, they would not quit until Bilbo showed them. Stubborn children that they were. He walked until he found a good target, a tree with a large open knot. Visible to the others watching from around the fire. A long time had passed since he'd thrown with an audience. Having stopped doing it at parties after he reached maturity and brought home the blades from Bree. Not wish to encourage anymore whispers about himself. A log snapped in the fire and his body moved in the motions he had trained into himself. Drawing back his arm and releasing it without a single spin it hit the tree with a sing of metal. Its brother joining it shortly, brushing each other where they were buried. The matching blade had made all the difference, his other knives had hooked and missed all together. These flew like an extension of his own arm. His blush returned when he heard a smattering of applause from the rest of the company. “Don't butter me, this is a party trick in comparison to the skills you all posses.”

            “Ori has been throwing since he was a youngling and he doesn't have the skill you have Master Baggins.” Nori smiled at him from his place beside Dori. “You have a talent with them.”

            This only caused Bilbo to flush brighter, but he felt a swell of pride take over his chest at this. “Thank you, but I think enough attention has been spent on me now.” He collected his weapons and took a seat beside Balin. Kili having stretched out in his spot to lean against Fili's chest. Having a conversation in hushed tones, not even sitting as close as he was Bilbo could hear nothing that passed between them. “No trouble tonight you two. We're all too tired for that.”

            “Not planning any trouble, Mr. Boggins.” Kili didn't raise his head from where it was pillowed on the fur collar of his brother's coat. “We're all too tired for that.” As though the youngest of the company admitting that was a truce, the others started to break into groups to lay down for sleep.

            Not long after the snores of Bombur and the wheezing of Oin filled the air around them. Bilbo himself settled himself down beside the fire, pulling his coat around himself tightly. A larger coat laid over him and he opened his eyes to see Kili's leather coat laid over him like a blanket. When he went to turn to make protest he saw that both of them where tucked into Fili's fur lined coat sharing it and body heat. Looking comfortable and warm, he held back his protests. Fili was leaned back against a tree, his nose buried in Kili's dark hair. His younger brother lying against his chest, having already fallen asleep. Bilbo curled up in the leather, still warm from the young dwarf prince and fell into a sleep only experienced by those who were tired in there very bones.

 

            The following day was a slow trek further into Mirkwood, Thorin was stubborn but even he was slowing from the pains of his battle with Azog. Going on foot as long as they could. Gandalf ensuring them that they would reach the home of Beorn the following day. Bilbo was glad for it; he ached from his fall through the mountain and the following battle. Even a single night with a roof over his head would do the hobbit wonders. That night he sat as close to the fire as he could. There had been no animals for them to hunt in the forest and barely anything green that was easily recognizable as edible. Sleep would not be coming easily for the burglar, cold and hungry as he was. He'd volunteered for first watch when the dwarves started to grumble over who would take the task.

            Thorin had nodded when he volunteered, sometime in the night he would wake Dwalin for the rest of the watch. Moving to sit on the outside edge of the firelight on a smooth stone. Watching the forest and listening to the groan of the trees. This was a strange forest, those groans almost sounded like speech. He found himself holding the knife, spinning the blade between his fingertips. The runes that ran over his knuckles told him that it was the blade Thorin had given him. Feeling them run over his skin made him feel better in a way.

            A sudden weight on his shoulder had the blade ready to fly thru the air, until a large hand grabbed his wrist. Blonde braids fell into Bilbo's eyes and he let out a sigh. Fili let go when he felt Bilbo relax his arm, pulling back with his hands held in front of him. The hobbit shook his head, put his arm back down. “I appreciate the warmth, but we almost ended up back at an unlucky number.”

            The blonde Prince smiled and took a seat on the large rock Bilbo was sitting on. “We didn't intend to startle you. Making sure you don't freeze. You're not dressed for these cold nights.”  Kili sat behind his brother, wearing Fili's fur lined coat.

            “I thank you for that.” Bilbo wrapped the coat over his shoulders. The warm leather cutting out the cold and damp. Nothing he owned in the Shire was able to hold a candle to how warm this kept him. “I will have to find one of these in hobbit size.”

            “That we will.” The dark haired brother agreed. He then handed Bilbo a parcel of fabric with a smile. “Here. With Uncle Thorin giving you his, we thought it was right for you to have these.” Unwinding the fabric relieved the other two of the set. They gleamed in the low light and Bilbo was about to open his mouth in protest.

            Fili cut him off there. “Uncle was right, it's good to see them all together again and they will serve you better than us. Neither of us have skill with a throwing knife. I can throw axes and my brother has his bow. It's better for you to have a weapon that serves you well.” He smiled at the burglar. “Besides it's bad luck to separate brothers.”

            There was no arguing, so Bilbo nodded. “I won't argue with that. Go get some sleep; I'll wake Dwalin in a few hours.” The young ones started to get up off the rock. “Thank you, for the knives and the coat. I owe you.”

            Kili was the one he shook his head now. “Fili told me that you pushed him off the Stone Giant and almost fell off the mountain yourself. You saved our Uncle; you're the one that is owed." In all that had happened, Bilbo had almost forgotten that moment of blind adrenaline. Having heard Fili's screams for his brother when they had been swung back towards the mountain, Bilbo had moved. Bodily pushing Dwalin and then Fili onto the outcropping of rock in front of them. Falling on his face when he sent the blonde Prince into safety. If he hadn't grabbed the rock he would have fallen or stayed on the Stone Giant's knee.

            “Then I still thank you for them both.” Bilbo nodded. Kili smiled at that and followed his brother back to camp. They were soon curled beside the fire, both so woven into one another it was hard to see where one began and one ended. He would never regret what he had done in the mountains, seeing one of the brothers without the other was a heartbreaking thought. Not since the battle with Azog, Bilbo could think of no reason he regretted going out his front door. He would have tales to tell if he ever returned to the Shire, but even if he didn't he'd have lived the kind of things he'd only ever read in books.


	2. Chapter 2

             _At Rivendell, Bilbo gave Frodo Sting and the mythril shirt that Thorin had given him those many years ago. A part of him was sad to see them go, but all the same he knew that they would serve Frodo better on his quest. Sitting alone in the gardens of Rivendell after the Fellowship of the Ring had left Bilbo thought to himself. When he’d pulled the gear out of his trunk, he’d laid the throwing knives beside Sting and thought long and hard before he put them back on his belt. Frodo was not trained to use them and he had never gone a day without them by his side. They wouldn’t serve the young hobbit the way they had served him. Smoking his pipe, he let his fingers trace the runes on the blade that had been the first. When he’d bought it in Bree, the blade had been blank._

* * *

 

            The night spent at Beorn’s home and the wonderful meal had done wonders for all of them. Now they were all sitting outside, enjoying the last warm days of the summer. Bilbo sat in the grass, trying to mend his waist coat as well as he could. The buttons were a lost cause as he had no more and he though a few of the company had volunteered to carve him new ones he didn’t want to take all their time. It was one of the few days they could relax and he wouldn’t take that from them over something so trivial as buttons. He sewed ties onto the coat, so he could at least close it properly. Testing his stitches, a smile took over his face. It was a good job and he was proud of it in an odd way. Laying it in the grass, not wanting to put it back on to enjoy the warmth of the sun. Tucking the small sewing kit back into a pocket of his coat and turning to where Fili and Kili were sparring on the grass. It had started with grand sweeping swords and as Bilbo looked over to them. Kili had dropped his sword and leapt on his brother, both arms wrapped his middle and the two fell into the grass. A wrestling match ensued, both brothers trying to force handfuls of grass into the others mouth.

            Laughter bubbled up from the others and Bilbo couldn’t stop his own smile. At the sight, even Thorin who sat on the porch wrapped in bandages chuckled at the two of them. “Enough you two.”

            Fili looked up from where he had pinned Kili’s middle between his thighs and was rubbing grass in his younger brother’s mouth. “Just a moment Uncle.” He let out a yip when his brother bit him and took the advantage to roll them over. Dropping a mouthful of chewed grass out onto his older brother’s face and fleeing before Fili could retaliate.

            A roar of laughter took over everyone. Bilbo was clutching his sides at the expression on Fili’s face. Kili smiling from where he’d wandered over to sit next to their Uncle. His face held a smile that the hobbit had only ever seen on a very smug cat. The blonde dwarf scrubbed the wet green stain off his face and stood to glare at his brother. There would defiantly be revenge for that later. With that over, they went back to their own conversations or care of their weapons. Bilbo himself went to tending to his own, when a shadow fell over his work. Ori was standing beside him with a bashful look on his face. “Mister Baggins, would you be able to teach me how you throw?”

            He’d never thought that he would be able to teach a dwarf something about a weapon, but it made his chest swell with pride. “Of course I’ll help you. I can’t really teach, but I will try and help.” He stood, brushing stray blades of grass off of himself. Looking for a proper target they found a large round of unsplit firewood. Almost as tall as the hobbit, perfect for their practice. “One moment.” He headed into the house and took a piece of charcoal from the cooling fireplace. Drawing a circle on the round, about a foot around before dropping the coal and wiping his hands in the grass.

            Ori went first; his knives were smaller than Bilbo. They had no hilt, just a wrap of leather around the handle. Both sharpened to a beautiful point. There were 10 in a leather piece that went around Ori’s left arm. “There different than yours.”

            “May I try one?” Bilbo was curious. They were so different, he was unsure he could throw one as he did his own. When Ori handed him two he tossed one in his hand, getting to know the weight and the balance of the thing. It was different, but he soon found what he was looking for. The first throw hit on its side and the knife bounced back towards Bilbo. He danced of the way, having dealt with this before. “Try that again.” After retrieving the fallen knife he changed his grip and threw again. These didn’t require as much force to cut through the air and hit the target. The second followed it shortly and he smiled to himself.

            It went that he would watch Ori throw and he would correct his grip or the angle of his throw. Soon the dwarf was sinking his blades into the wood with a decent accuracy. Bilbo could not help but smile. He took his own from his belt and joined Ori in throwing. Having to draw another circle on the round. One of Ori’s flew wrong and bounced back at the two. Bilbo moved in front of Ori and put his arms in front of his face. The small blade hit on its side on the hobbit’s open left palm. “Mr. Baggins! I’m so sorry.”

            The cut was shallow but bleed like most injuries to the hands. “It’s all right, not the first time or the last.” He would have thought nothing until Dori came up and took his hand. Looking at his palm.

            “Let me bandage it then, as thanks for teaching my brother.” The white headed dwarf was already wiping the blood away with a cloth. “Not good to leave it open like this.”

            “Alright.” He let Dori lead him to where he and Nori where sitting in the shade. In a few moments his hand was bandaged and Nori was teaching him how to conceal blades in his sleeves the same way he had taught Ori. Showing him a handful of useful tricks and then pulling him to his feet. Showing him how to use a knife in combat and Bilbo was glad for the lesson.

            It wasn’t long before Dwalin and Fili pulled him into sword training. The lesson practical but a great deal of fun as well. When the sun began to set, they ended their lessons. Bilbo went to get the knives he had forgotten in the round. They weren’t there now and turning to find. He found Kili bent over one of his blades a tool in his hand. A few long scratching noises could be heard before he would blow on the metal. Shavings of metal flying off the blade, catching the light before sinking to the earth. He stood by the young one and watched as he finished, polishing the metal on a cloth. “All the others have a name on them.” He set the one that had been Bilbo’s original beside the other three. Now each bore a different rune.

            “Whose names?” Bilbo asked. Sitting on the step next to Kili’s feet to get a closer look at the four now.

            He tapped each with his finger. “Mine, Fili’s, Thorin’s and yours.” He pulled the hilt of his sword around his hip and showed the matching rune of Thorin’s name. “Uncle says it makes you think of who you’re fighting for. It’s an old tradition.”

            It made the hobbit smile that Kili had thought to involve him in there traditions. “Thank you.”

            Brushing off his lap, he stood and waited for Bilbo to gather the blades back into their hilts. Before putting a hand on his shoulder and much more gently then he had seen the other dwarves do, butted his forehead into the hobbits. “You’re family now, Uncle Bilbo.”

            A smile spread across the hobbit’s cheeks that almost made his face want to spilt and he threw his arms around Kili’s waist and hugged him tightly. There was no real family for Bilbo to miss in the Shire. No one who would miss him if he never returned from his adventure. An empty place left by his parents passing was being filled by a company of uninvited dinner guests. “Thank you Kili.”

            “You’re welcome. Let’s go in, before Bombur finishes all of supper.” Kili’s arm remained about his shoulder as they went inside. Finding himself settled between Kili and Thorin that night. Enjoying a warm meal with his new family. Sharing stories of the Shire beside their stories of Erebor and Ered Luin. Thorin smiling on occasion and laughing from deep in his chest on others. Slowly, dwarves started to leave the table. Going to sit by the fire, some trickling out to the porch to enjoy a pipe. Bilbo envied them, having lost his with his pipe with his pack.

            Thorin was packing his full of a fragrant leaf that made the hobbit’s longing worse. “You have not joined us in a pipe.”

            “It was lost with most of my belongings.” He sighed, a bit wistfully.

            “Then join me and share mine.” The King waited for the burglar to push himself out of the large chair. They found a quiet corner of the porch to sit, looking out across Beorn’s gardens and Mirkwood under the clear moonlight. A chill had come with night and mixed with the sweet smell of grass. Mingling scents of different pipeweeds met Bilbo’s nose and he inhaled them slowly. Taking the pipe Thorin offered with a smile on his face. A smoke ring came from his lips slowly and as they passed the pipe a competition began between them. Time passed between them in silence before Thorin spoke. “My nephews have seemed to have welcomed you into our family.”

            Bilbo was taken back for a moment. “The engraving and the head butting? I’m very touched by it.” The comfort of the night made his lips loosen. “I have no real family back in the Shire. My cousin Drogo and his wife Primula, but no one close.”

            “Your parents?” He asked.

            “My father passed in the Fell Winter. My mother not long after, I was never sad at her passing. She had gone to join my father, they were never happy apart. I became the Master of Bag End before my maturity which caused quite a stir with the Sackville-Baggins. They wanted my home, but it was left to me.” It had been a long time since he had spoken of his parents. “Had no siblings so there was no one around. I’ve been mostly alone since then. The Gamgees come by to visit and check on my wellbeing. Until you showed up, no visitors had come to my home in almost a year or so.”

            The King tapped the ash out of his pipe. “As you spoke of the hobbits of the Shire, I would think they would be less apt to leave you to yourself.”

            His hand travelled to the knife Kili had engraved his name into. “I was too much like the Took side of my family to be a proper Baggins. Most think me very odd and they seem to think that odd is like a cold. That it’s contagious in some way.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Never bothered me before I started on this journey. Seeing all of you and how close your families are. Kili’s words today warmed me in a place that I didn’t know had grown cold.”

            A large hand rested on Bilbo’s shoulder. “You have proven yourself as a member of this company and a worthy member of our family.” Thorin brought their foreheads together in a light butting of foreheads.

            “Thank you, Thorin.”

 

            They left Beorn’s house when they were sure that Thorin was healed and they had gathered up the supplies to get thru Mirkwood. Bilbo found himself constantly in the company of Thorin and his nephews as they walked or camped. When he wasn’t, he was talking with Nori, Ori and Dori or sharing the company of Bofur, Bifur and Bombur. He found that was learning how to understand Bifur, it was very much like a game of charades and if Bilbo ever got lost Bombur or Bofur would translate for him. Some evenings he spent with Balin and Dwalin, sharing a pipe and learning the history of the dwarves. Along with the history of those in his company. A few embarrassing stories where shared about Fili and Kili by Dwalin who had taught them to use sword and axe. Balin with a wicked grin proceeded to embarrass both Thorin and Dwalin with stories from their own youth.

            Even though Mirkwood made Bilbo fearful those first days of their journey thru it where filled with light and laughter. Then the spiders came and Bilbo was glad for the training he had done with Dwalin, Fili and Nori. Those nights after were spent with Bilbo focusing on nothing more than saving his family. When he wanted to curl up with exhaustion and hopelessness he remembered the names carved into his knives. He would remember the light head butts from Thorin and Kili at Beorn’s home. With those memories in his heart, those runes under his fingers he worked until he got them all free. Now it all blurred together but he remembered Thorin’s arms again wrapped tightly around him when they reached Lake Town. Fili and Kili crowding both sides of him and holding him so tight he couldn’t breathe for a moment. All that played thru his mind and his heart was that his family was safe.


	3. Chapter 3

             _The quest of the one ring had been a success. Nine had set out from Rivendell that time ago and now eight had returned. Better than the numbers from his own adventures and the bitterness that rose in Bilbo’s throat he knew wasn’t fair. He was glad to see them return unharmed. He was sad for the loss on their journey and he could see the hollowness in Frodo’s eyes that he saw in his own. Yet when he looked back at the picture he had of himself. Young and headstrong done by the steady hands of Ori, he most days didn't recognize his own face in that drawing. The hobbit in that picture had died in Erebor, that hobbit had no place in the Shire. Not into the old life of Bilbo Baggins, he put that picture in the back of his book and picked up his quill again. He would finish before Frodo headed back to the Shire._

_Most of this story would stay locked away, but the numbers that knew the truth where growing less and less as the years passed. Now that he knew Balin, Oin and Ori had fallen in Moria. No one needed to remember the story of a silly hobbit who’d loved a foolish King._

* * *

 

            At the tavern that night they celebrated their escape from the elves and the drinks were plentiful. Soon they would be at Erebor; soon Bilbo would have to face the dragon Smaug. This night though, he would not think of that. He would enjoy his ale and the laughter at their escape by barrel. The title of the Barrel Rider was thrown about when Bofur said it in jest and then became a cheer to the hobbit who’d help to save them again. There was laughter, there was drinking and unfortunately there was Kili’s mouth. The youngest of the Company had been passing insults with a young man at a table beside them. When Fili tried to shush him he only grew louder. It was a childish game for most of the night, when the young man’s tongue turned mean.

            “I would ask of your manners, but you probably a bastard, the son of whore so I don’t expect any.” The man’s drinking fellows all started to laugh whole heartedly. The table of dwarves went deadly silent.

            “At the very least, my mother didn’t whore out to orcs to have me." Kili spit back and the table of men went silent, while the dwarves began to howl with laughter. Bilbo saw the hand of the man raise in a fist and the knife flew from a second after, the human’s long tunic sleeve held firmly to the wall by the blade.

            “That’s enough of that now, thank you.” Bilbo glared at the man. Whose mouth hung up like a fish. “I think you’ll both find you're done with this petty game before someone gets hurt.” Bifur who sat beside him growled and made several hand gestures.

            To which Bofur nodded. “Aye laddies, it started in fun. Now it’s gotten serious. Enough is enough.” Dwalin pulled the knife free of the wall and the fabric it held pinned. Flex his knuckle dusters fiercely at him. Three young human men versus an entire table of angry dwarf and a hobbit seemed to be a bad idea. With his sleeve free, he left in a hurry. His friends tagging along behind him.

            The table burst into laughter again, Bilbo receiving several pats on the back and an affectionate ruffling of hair from Bifur. “Don’t praise me; I was aiming for his hand.” This only started another burst of laughter.

            More drinks were ordered but Bilbo respectfully bowed out. He could not hold his ale the way the rest of them could. Even young Kili and Ori were better than him at it, but they were also bigger than him. Excusing himself to stand outside he wonders if the difference in size makes a difference in drinking games. His feet lead him to one of the docks, a view of the forest they escaped from and across the lake. Never had he seen so much water was this what the sea was like? Why was he unafraid of the water? He could not swim like most hobbits but he had ridden down the river on a barrel, now he tempted fate further. Sitting on the docks, his fingers curled around the edge of the wood.

            They were so close to Erebor, close to the day that Bilbo would face down the dragon Smaug and while it still poured ice into his veins he was surer of himself. More sure of their victory facing down this beast. A smile crept over his lips, where was that timid Hobbit from the Shire. Who was content with his books and his maps. “Long gone now I suppose.”

            “What is that?” Thorin came to sit beside him and chuckled when the hobbit started at his voice.

            Bilbo turned to the King, his armor and fur left at the inn to dry fully. It was the least clothing he’d seen on the dwarf since the start of their journey. “The timid hobbit of the Shire. I don’t think they’d recognize me at home anymore.”

            There was another chuckle. “No, they wouldn’t. I don’t think any of us would. You’ve saved my life, the life of my Company and my family. You have proven yourself more useful than any of us would have guessed. I am thankful to you for so much.” Thorin had removed his boots and let his toes trail thru the water of the lake.

            “I am thankful to all of you. I spent my youth dreaming of adventures, of seeing what lay beyond the Shire. Now look at where I sit, where I’ve been.” He turned towards the dwarf with a smile on his face.

            The next moment there was a pair of lips brushing Bilbo’s own, the tickle of beard on the hobbit’s chin and a rough hand trailing across his cheek. It was barely a moment before they pulled back. “After this adventure, I’d wish you to stay.”

            “Stay?” His heart was pounding like it may explode from his chest. Part of him had dreamed of this since that embrace after the battle with Azog. Never entertaining the thought for too long because it was silly. What could a gentlehobbit offer a King?

            “In Erebor, when we have reclaimed. I would have you see it in its full glory as it was, have you by my side. You have become invaluable to me on this journey. There have been none that have done for me than you have.” Thorin’s thumb traced the smooth cheekbone of the hobbit.

            His hand raised to capture that large hand. “It would be my greatest honor to stay by your side." He sighed as his lips were captured again. His hands falling onto those broad shoulders and held tightly to the soft clothe of Thorin’s shirt. Afraid that this was a cruel dream and he would wake in his bed in the inn to find himself alone. How long had he been alone? How long had he waited for this? Perchance this was fate, his lonely life in the Shire, this adventure. All for the love of a King.

            “Will you hate me for taking you from your home in the Shire?” Thorin asked his rough fingers running over a soft cheek free.

            Bilbo shook his head in the King’s hands. “I will miss it, but they say that home is where the heart is. Bag End is there with my parents things, but there is nothing else there for me really. I would go to visit the Gamgees and my cousins but staying there alone when I could be here. The thought makes me all the happier.”

            Thorin bent his head to rest his forehead to Bilbo’s and his hand stayed cradling the hobbit’s skull in his palm. “I will have you when we have reclaimed our home. Dress you in the finery of my people and the best of my kingdom.”

            “I don’t need all that. I just need you. This family you have allowed me to be part of. Riches of gold and jewels mean little in comparison to the riches of family in a good home.” He could not imagine himself in the kind of finery Thorin spoke of. What did riches matter next to a warm home with people who cared and warm meals with people to share it with? That was worth more to him than anything held deep in that mountain.

            A soft kiss was pressed to Bilbo’s forehead. “You will have it. Your presence in my home and my family.” He took Bilbo’s hand and he pressed something heavy into closing his fingers around it. “I must leave you or I will lose myself with you this night. A mark of this night and a promise to you. When we have reclaimed our home that is when I will lay claim to you. Not before that.” He squeezed that hand and stood. Taking up his boots and heading back for the inn.

            He waited for a time before he opened his hand and looked down at the ring Thorin had left in his hand. A heavy thing that bore a square stone, it had sat on the middle finger of the King and was still warm from his body. The band would not fit on his small hands. He took a strip of leather from his worn belt, carefully working it out of the holes it had been weaved into till he had enough. Tying the ring around his neck, the heavy weight of it against his breast was such an aching remembrance of Thorin. Of the heavy and warm touch on his skin, so like that hand that had been placed on his cheek moments ago.

            A sense of comfort came over him that night and he slept almost as deeply as he would have if he had been lying in his own bed. Even in a room with Bombur’s snoring and Bifur’s occasional talking in his sleep thru out the night.

 

            He awoke in the morning not to any alarm or to any person purposely waking him. No, this was to the sense of someone staring at him. There was no point in ignoring it and trying to turn back into his pillow. He was awake now and he would have to face the day. That person was Fili and he had a small smile on his face from where he sat on the edge of the bed. Bilbo sighed. “Good morning Fili. Why in Middle Earth are you staring at me?”

            “Good morning Bilbo, though I suspect that I should call you Uncle Bilbo now.”

            The ring on its leather was laying on the mattress, the stone catching the early morning light. He would have raised a fuss, but being called Uncle warmed him to his very core. “If that is what you wish.”

            What a radiant smile that got out of the dwarf Prince. “I don’t think you could stop Kili from calling you that if you didn’t. He’s wanted to since you saved Thorin.”

            Said dwarf came in like his name was a summon. “Call Bilbo what?”

            Fili waited till his brother was closer and pulled the younger into his lap. “Uncle.” His cheek rested against his younger brother’s shoulder.

            When Kili noticed the ring as his brother had he smiled. “I guess I really will have to call you that now. Uncle gave you his betrothal ring.”

            “His what?” Bilbo sat up and stretched out his arms.

            “Betrothal ring. Hobbits must have different customs on this then dwarves.” Fili told him and then stabbed his brother with a finger. “Stop fidgeting about.” This seemed to only make it worse as Kili wiggled around more before stopping.

            For a moment he could only laugh and then he had to think. He had not thought of courtship or proposals in a very long time. Not in the last 10 years, he was beyond his prime and certain he would stay alone for the rest of his days. “Courtship is usually discussed between the boy and his ladies parents after a attraction is found. Then you spend time with your intended’s family and them with yours. When you plan to propose you give a gift. Most of the time it’s the dress to wear at the day of the wedding or something to do with the ladies hobbies or trade. It’s all very practical I suppose.”

            “It’s not all that different then, but we either craft or receive a ring when we reach maturity. Then when we wish to propose we give that ring, they give us there’s.” Fili turned the thick silver band on his middle finger towards Bilbo. It held a beautiful black stone that burned with a hidden fire of rainbow colors when the light caught it. Kili’s hand took his brothers and held it with his own. His own ring was gold with a white stone with the same fire in its depth.

            It was then that Bilbo realized something. “You have exchanged rings with each other.” They both nodded in sync with the other.

            Kili’s hand squeezed his brother. “Dwarves only have one, some have to find to their love and others just know. We woke up one morning and we know. Fili and I both woke on the day that I was to receive my ring and we both knew. That day in front of mother and uncle we exchanged our rings.”

            “That was all right?” The hobbit asked. Such things would have been heavily frowned upon; his own relations with Thorin would be frowned upon. Rolling the grass with another male was alright when one was young but at some point one needs to be sensible and marry. Between brothers it would be have been openly shunned.

            Fili’s chuckle met his ears. “To some it is not, but to everyone in this company it is fine. Most of them have known us since we were young boys. We have always been close, closer than most.”

            “We thought you have noticed sooner or if you had you were just being silent about it.” Kili’s smile was bright and a bit smug. “We have never hidden it from you. Perhaps you were too busy paying attention to Uncle Thorin.”

            That raised a blush on the hobbit’s cheeks that sent both into laughter. “I thought your ways were different and that dwarves were closer to their brothers than hobbits.” This earned him more laughter, but once it had cleared Bilbo only smiled. “I am happy for you though. That you found your happiness so young.”

            A hand touched Bilbo’s shoulder and he looked up to see it was Fili’s. “You and Uncle Thorin just found yours later then us, but you found it all the same, Uncle Bilbo.”

            Never could he imagine the happiness that built up inside of him at hearing Fili’s words and he wrapped his arms around both of them. Holding them tight to him and he felt tears in his eyes when they wrapped their arms around his small form. “I found my happiness not only in Thorin, but in you two as well. In my family.” They stayed that way until Bofur came to beckon them to breakfast.

            That morning there was breakfast and much congratulations on the ring around Bilbo’s neck. All clapping the hobbit and their King on the back. A joking Bofur called Bilbo Queen Under the Mountain and this sent laughter all around the table. Gloin starting the laughter again when he corrected Bofur and called him instead Misses Oakenshield. Bifur interrupt them with a few barking words and a series of rabid hand motions.

            “It was all in fun.” Bofur clapped his hand on Bifur’s shoulder. “Nothing to be upset about.” This sent Bifur’s hand flying in more hand gestures.

            This Bilbo could understand the gruff toymakers irritation. “I don't mind the jokes. Everyone jokes with friends and family. What they are saying isn’t hurtful.”

            “Aye, but it’s not polite to make such jests at a warrior about title.” Balin had finished and was packing his pipe.

            “What would I be called?” The hobbit looked down the table, genuinely curious. Never having read much on royalty, especially dwarven royalty.

            Ori answered from his spot between Dori and Dwalin. “King Consort, but not until you marry.”

            When a blush took over Bilbo’s cheek, Thorin took his hand. “Not until we have rebuilt our home. Where we should start heading for soon.” This stopped all discussion of the ring around the hobbit’s throat and turned it towards continuing their journey. No mention was ever made that Thorin’s hand never left Bilbo’s where it sat on the table. They made their plans and soon after started moving to prepare.

            Bilbo set out to help that morning with a hope in his heart. Of reaching Erebor, helping to take it back for his King and of his life spent at the side of Thorin Oakenshield. If only he’d know.


	4. Chapter 4

_There was celebration in Rivendell when the Fellowship headed to Gondor to see the crowning of King Aragorn. Bilbo would have loved to have seen the White City but with the destruction of the Ring he could feel age creeping into his bones. Along with the deep bitterness in heart. He’d grown a love of Lady Arwen when he was young returning from Erebor and it had not dwindled on his return here now but it did not stop the jealously. She had kept her King, she would stand beside him and she would get to love him for years to come. That twisted something in Bilbo’s heart so painfully. Bringing back the mourning he had not done in so long and he hated himself for his jealously._

_That was all that was left though. His happiness for Frodo’s return was buried when he’d sat down and really seen the pain in the young hobbit’s eyes. When he’d heard from Gimili about the death of so many who had journeyed with him in the Company. Balin, Ori and Oin’s passing in the Mines of Moria so far from their families. He mourned for Dwalin without his brother and Ori now. Gimli had told him of Bifur’s passing in battle only months before his 111th birthday. Dori’s passing from age and sickness before the young dwarf had left for the meeting of the Council. The ravens had brought the news that Nori passed in battle in the tides of Orcs that had poured into Dale._

_Only five of the fourteen remained now on Middle Earth. The news of their passing made Bilbo’s heart ache with the memories of them alive and well all those years ago. He misses them now, but he thanks Gimli from the bottom of his heart for the tales of his friends. With them having left for Gondor and his book sent off with Frodo he now thinks of his last omittance from the book._

* * *

 

            Sitting overlooking the battlefield, Bilbo ignored the pain in his body from the few blows he’d received. Cleaning the gore from his knives that had taken a handful of orcs to their grave. He may have been thrown from the mountain but it did not mean that he would not try to help his friends in this battle. His ankle was throbbing painfully, a gash on his forehead bleed into his eye and his shoulder carried an ache from overuse. Seeing the dead in the field he knew that he was lucky. He was yet unsure as too how many survived from the Company. In the chaos he could only catch flashes of them and then he was too busy trying to save others. His knives had seen to their purpose this day. Having saved Bilbo and he knew at one point Dwalin from being taken from behind by a terrible nasty specimen of orc.

            Now the battle was over, now he had to think of what he would do now. Thorin had banished him from Erebor and had torn the ring from around his neck. It had pained Bilbo something so fierce to see that look in the King’s eyes. Those words spoken in pure anger and hatred. All he had tried to do was stop war, was keep Thorin and the rest of the company safe from harm. He’d try to keep his family from death and now he sat unsure if they had even survived the battle. Even with all the heartache, he didn’t regret what he had done. Nor did he expect Thorin to forgive him, even now. In many ways he would return to the Shire the same way he had left; alone and without a family. He wanted to stay in Erebor to stand beside Thorin as he brought his kingdom back to life. Bilbo had began to doubt when he had seen his King change at entering his old home and had seen how the gold had begun to mean more to him than anything else. Never would he doubt what he did in secret, taking the Arkenstone from Erebor.

            A weight still sat on his chest as he looked at the blades bearing his name and the names of Thorin, Fili and Kili. He put them back into his belt and turned his eyes towards the gates of Erebor. The tents that had been erected by the dwarves and the constant movements of the dwarves between them. This is when he saw Gandalf coming up the hill to him. “Gandalf.” There were too many questions and the look on the Wizards face told him that he knew those questions, but there was something sad on his old face.

            “Bilbo, you need to come with me.” He stopped at the crest of the hill and the hobbit asked no questions. Hurrying to Gandalf’s side and walking beside him towards the small city of tents. “Have you heard?”

            “No, I have sat there since the battle ended hours ago. I did not know that I would be welcome amongst the dwarves since I was banished by Thorin.” He did not like the Wizard’s tone.

            Gandalf let out a long sigh. “You have missed a great deal then. I would give you more time to take all the news I have for you, but time is very short. Fili and Kili fell in battle. Thorin does not have long left on Middle Earth.”

            It took everything that Bilbo had to not let the strength run out of his legs. He couldn’t imagine Fili and Kili dead; in his mind he could still see them on their journey. Laughing and smiling at one thing or another. Kili carving Bilbo’s name in the last knife, Fili smiling at the ring that had found a place against Bilbo’s chest. He kept walking beside Gandalf and did not let the tears fall yet. Thorin still lived and he would try at the very least to tell the dwarf King how he felt. “May I see him?”

            “He is asking for you. It is very lucky that Bifur has kept his eye on you since the battle ended or I would have not known where to look." Gandalf stopped outside a tent, it sat in the middle of them all and he pulled open the clothe door for Bilbo. “Go quickly.”

            Bilbo stepped into the dark tent and his eye took a moment to adjust to the candle light inside. His eyes fell on Thorin where he lay on the bed, the blood that had soaked thru bandages, his chest covered in a thick fur. This wasn’t right, even in the aftermath of Azog he had a fire in his eyes and a great strength. It twisted something deep inside to see him like this, but Bilbo refused to take his eyes off of him. He barely felt Balin pat him on the shoulder as the old dwarf left the two alone. There was a seat beside the bed and he took it. Taking the King’s hand gently. “Thorin.”

            Blue eyes, too dull and drained looked at him now. “Bilbo.” His voice was soft and his breathing rasped. There was blood leaking from a corner of his mouth. “I wished to apologize to you. I was wrong, so wrong. I should have listened to you.”

            Bilbo could feel the tears he’d held start to fall from his cheeks now. “Thorin-”

            With a shake of his head, Thorin cut off the hobbit’s words. “No, I won’t have you apologize when it is I who need to apologize. It is I who needs to beg for your forgiveness.” He took his hand from Bilbo’s and reached to his throat pulling off the leather that was tied there. When his hand fell back into Bilbo’s he pushed the ring into his palm. “I would now more than ever have had you stay beside me. You proved yourself a better man than I.”

            “I would have stayed, even if you’d never forgave me.” He smiled a faint shaky smile. “I could not leave you, not when I told you I’d stay.”

            Thorin smiled at him and nodded at his words. “I only hope now that you will forgive a dying dwarf.”

            “Of course I will. I understand your anger at me.” Bilbo put his other hand on top of Thorin’s.

            It seemed to take a weight off the dying King. “Good. I have one less regret to take with me. Know that I love you, know that I would have had you beside me, know that I still regret my words and my actions towards you. My biggest is that we dwarves could not be more like you. If we valued family and food more than gold, things would be happier.” Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand and Bilbo without letting go of Thorin’s hand moved to kneel on the chair. Leaning over to kiss the King on the temple, then the nose and then the lips. Ignoring the taste of copper that lingered on his lips when he pulled back. There were tears that clung to Thorin’s eyes as well. “Though happy or sad, I must leave it now.”

            With those words the hand that Bilbo held went limp and the last light in stormy blue eyes went dark. “Farewell Thorin." Then the tears would not stop and he laid his head on the hand he still clutched. He did not leave till Gandalf came and took him away. Taking him to have his own wounds looked at. Many of the other dwarves turned away from him but when those of the Company saw him they would wrap their arms around him. They knew what others would never know now. Even Dwalin enveloped the hobbit in a tight embrace. Bifur too, all the while muttering comforts in his gruff manner. This was a day that they had all lost something and while history would never remember Bilbo Baggins as just the hobbit. The remaining ten of the Company would always remember Bilbo as a friend and as family to the line of Durin.

 

            He stayed to see them put into the tomb deep in the halls of Erebor, to Dain Ironfoot crowned as King Under the Mountain and to heal enough for his long journey back to the Shire. The last day before he was set to leave with Gandalf by his side, Bilbo sat in that cold tomb. Clutching those knives to his chest and running the argument he’d had in his head since they had been laid to rest. Part of him did not feel right taking the blades back to the Shire. They had been Thorin’s and though he had the one almost 20 years, it didn’t feel right to take it back with him. A hand brushed his shoulder in the middle of his thinking.

            Bofur with his arm in a sling sat beside Bilbo and looked at what he was holding so close to his chest. “Take them home with you, laddie. They wouldn’t want them down here growing rusty and dull.”

            He shook his head. “It feels wrong to take them away from them. All I see when I look at them is the family that battle denied me.”

            “You take them home to remember the family that gave em to you. Dwarves all carry weapons that family gave. Either in gift or in death.” His good hand touched the mattock on his back. “Bifur gave me this when his father, my uncle, passed. He took up the boar spear and gave me his weapon. It reminds us what we’re fighting for and what fought for us.”

            That’s when he remembered Kili’s words as he had carved Bilbo’s name into the blade. He looked down at them, at the runes carved into the metal and he felt his decision change. “It would be wrong to leave behind the reason I have to keep fighting. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

            The miner nodded and smiled. “What will you do when you get home?”

            Bilbo ran his finger over those names and thought for a moment. “Clean, weed, keep putting one foot in front of the other and maybe one day write a story of my adventures. Though obviously there will be some left out.”

            “Ori said the same of his records of the journey." After a moment of digging Bofur got out his pipe and packed it before lighting it.

            Taking the pipe when passed to him, Bilbo nodded. “No one needs to know that part. It’s mine or it’s ours. Some things don’t need to be history, they’ll die with us.”

            Bofur nodded his approval. “Aye that it doesn’t. Though someone will always remember. It’ll become the stuff of quiet and long distant legend. Where names are forgotten and the story changes to suit the need.”

            “That’s where I’ll have my happy ending.” The hobbit handed back Bofur’s pipe and stood. “Give me my last moments here Bofur. I need to say my final goodbyes.” There were no words just a somber nod before the dwarf left him alone in the tomb. It wasn’t until Bilbo could no longer hear his boots that he turned to the three standing tombs. He walked over, touching the shorter one that held Fili and Kili. Even in death they could not be separated it, have been laid to rest besides one another, their hands intertwined between the two. He laid his forehead on the cold stone and he closed his eyes.

            “I was so happy when you called me Uncle. You were the best nephews a hobbit could ask for. I would have loved to seen you married here. Would have loved to seen you rule Fili, you’d have been an amazing King and to see you stand beside him Kili." Even now he could imagine it, could see their wedding and the joy on their faces. The crown on Fili’s brow and Kili beside him, finally grown into his beard. It was painful to think of but it brought a smile to his face.

            Then slowly he moved to Thorin’s and he caressed the image of the dead King carved into the stone lid of his tomb. His hand tracing the hand that was missing the ring, the only sign of what could have been that lay in the stone. “I would have stayed here, seen Erebor brought back to life under you. I cannot now that you’re not here to do it. Maybe one day I’ll return when I have had time. It is beautiful even now, but that means so little without you. Without all of you. I can’t stay here with you, I wish that I could. Part of me is here with you. You took my heart with you Thorin Oakenshield and I am glad to have had yours for such a short time.” This time he did not imagine, he put an end to it before it began. Otherwise he would wish to curl up and lay beside Thorin’s tomb until they put him in beside the fallen King.

            Wiping the tears from his eyes with a thumb, he stood straight. “Goodbye Thorin Oakenshield, my King. Goodbye Fili and Kili, my nephews.”

 

            It was no surprise when the next morning the remaining members of the Company stood outside to see him off. Bilbo was glad to see them all together again one more time. It would never happen again in all of Bilbo’s years on Middle Earth. He held each of them for a moment in his arms and he in there’s. There were no tears; all the tears had been shed already. Though a few of them had tried to convince Bilbo to stay they all knew why he couldn’t. They all had their words of encouragement, but no real parting words. All of the dwarves had promised to return to the Shire to visit their hobbit and Bilbo had told them that he would one day come back to Erebor. There were no sad words spoken between them and it lifted Bilbo's spirit’s some.

            The time came when they could not hold up the hobbit’s departure any longer. This when Ori stepped away from his place at Dwalin’s side and handed Bilbo a bundle. It was a knitted scarf in a blue almost the same as the undershirt Thorin had worn, but it was wrapped tightly around something. “For writing your adventures in.”

            He unwound the scarf, wrapping it around his own neck and took in the beautiful leather book he was holding. Opening the cover he found a drawing of himself looking so proud, but the others underneath it meant more than that one. They were not as polished or finished as his portrait. A picture of Fili with his back against a tree and Kili curled at his side with his head on the others chest. Another of Thorin as he sat beside the fire one night, his hands curled under his nose. The last got him the most; it was a moment he had almost forgotten in all the grief of the last few weeks. It was Bilbo seated next to Thorin on a bench in Laketown, an arm thrown around the hobbit’s shoulder. Fili and Kili sat on the boards at their feet, lean back against them and the bench. They had sat like that for a long time, smoking and talking about nothing important that day. “Ori, this means more then you could ever know to me.” He hugged the young dwarf. “Thank you.”

            “Your welcome.” Ori pulled away after a moment. “You have to get on your way now or we’ll never let you leave.”

            Bilbo nodded, putting the book into his pack. With help from Bifur and Dwalin he was on the back of his pony. A look from Gandalf and they started away from Erebor. He kept looking back at the gates and the Company stayed watching until the hobbit was out of sight. No longer able to see them, he was already homesick for their company. He kept having to remind himself why he was going home, but then he remembered all too quickly. With nothing to think of now but the road ahead, Bilbo begins to hum.

            This is how Bilbo came to return to the Shire singing as he thought he would never do again:

 

_Roads go ever ever on,_

_Over rock and under tree,_

_By caves where never sun has shone,_

_By streams that never find the sea;_

_Over snow by winter sown,_

_And through the merry flowers of June,_

_Over grass and over stone,_

_And under mountains in the moon._

_Roads go ever ever on_

_Under cloud and under star,_

_Yet feet that wandering have gone_

_Turn at last to home afar._

_Eyes that fire and sword have seen_

_And horror in the halls of stone_

_Look at last on meadows green_

_And trees and hills they long have known._


	5. Chapter 5

             _131, the oldest hobbit to ever inhabit Middle Earth. Though Bilbo is surrounded by his friends that remain and can make the journey, along with his dear Frodo it all seems so empty. Sometimes it gets hard to remember why, but even in the fog his old mind throws at him he remembers. He enjoys sitting with Gloin and Dwalin the night before they are to start on his last journey. They speak of their shared past and for the first time in a long while they can speak of a history contained in no book. Long talks of their Journey and there adventure. The time after that in both Erebor and the Shire. Then their stories grow somber again and the talk of loses grows and grows. All of those who passed before them._

_Before Bilbo lays down to sleep that night he thinks of Dwalin who is alone now. His King, his princes, his brother and Ori are all gone from Middle Earth. This is how he finds himself thinking of Frodo and how it saved him all that time ago._

* * *

 

            His return to the Shire had been unpleasant to say the least. Having to chase the Sackville-Baggins from his home, the cleaning and the making his house into a home again. Everything was different now, he found himself putting less reverence to his families old heirlooms. For months he managed to stay busy at an almost constant, if he was working in his garden, cleaning his home or practicing with his knives he could not stop to notice how empty it was. There would be no time to think about how big and lonely his bed was. If he was busy he wouldn’t count the extra bedrooms or the empty chairs. With no one there to talk to Bilbo wouldn’t realize that he’d lost the ability until the Gamgees would good morning and his mouth would produce no words.

            Many things were whispered about him thru out the Shire and he heard most of it. Some thought he was cursed by the strange ring around his neck, others that he was some kind of magical being that had replaced Bilbo Baggins and a very few guessed that he had lost something close to him. The last one was laughed off; the hobbit had not acted this strange when his parents passed years ago. Eventually the rumors quit because there were better things to gossip about and odd Mr. Baggins wasn’t that interesting anymore. This was the way that Bilbo preferred it and he continued on as he had for months. Busying himself to the point of almost exhaustion and not speaking to anyone for weeks. Sometimes by choice or by the inability to do so.

            Almost two years he survived this way until the night he received a knock and a doorway full of dwarves again. This time only Bofur, Bifur and Ori were huddled at his doorstep. It was wonderful to see them again, but when Bilbo opened the door he could not speak to great them. He tongue weigh down with grief, but yet they understand. That night at seeing Bilbo’s home and seeing his garden is when Bofur makes him sit at the table with them to eat a supper he’d set out for them. Taking the hobbit by the shoulders and sitting him down at the head of his own table.

            “You’re wasting away right before us. This isn't how you’re supposed to live.” Bofur sat next to him, Bifur beside him. Bilbo gives him a long sad look and shakes his head. He tries but the words will not leave his mouth. How is he supposed to live? He’s alone in this big house and it feels like so empty. It’s hard for even him to understand why he still goes thru the motions and gets out of bed in the morning.

            It’s Bifur who breaks him out of his thoughts with a series of garbled words and several hand gestures. Bilbo isn’t able to understand what the dwarf is trying to tell him. Ori only smiles a little and nods. “He’s right, it’s always hard after death to get back up, but you do it to remember those who passed on.” The scribe pulled one of his small knives from his sleeve and laid it beside Bilbo’s plate. For the first time he noticed that it too had runes carved into the blade. “We carry on and we carry their names so they are never truly forgotten. They give us strength and there always beside us.”

            Bilbo’s fingers trace the runes and looks back up at the young dwarf. “Whose name is it?” His voice is cracked from lack of use. Not sure when it had left him this time.

            “It’s my mother’s. I also have my father’s name on others. They belonged to him.” Ori put the blade away. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t just give up Bilbo. What would you have wanted them to do?”

            That's what makes Bilbo think for a long while. He remembers Fili’s self assured smirk, Kili mad grin and Thorin’s rare smile. Remembers the short time he had with them, the way they had planned, talked and their stories. He suddenly felt ashamed for living the way he had since his return to the Shire. “They’d want me to go on. They’d want me to live and remember them.”

            Bofur smiled at him and nodded. “That’s what you’re going to do and were not leaving till you are.”

 

            That is what they did. They stayed for a month and slowly Bilbo's house again became a home. It was full of laughter and voices again. He framed the drawing Ori had given him and put them on the dresser in his bedroom. Hung Sting on the wall and put the leather helmet that had saved him from a terrible wound found a place on his mantle. They told him of Erebor and of Dale. There were stories about the rest of the Company and it made the hobbit’s heart lighter that they were doing well in their home. He felt alive again and it was a good feeling.

            Eventually they had to leave and it was bitter sweet. Bilbo rode with them to Bree to see them off. Bofur promised that they would visit again and it gave him something to look forward to. That promise was kept like the seasons, each year they would come to see him. For a month of every year his home was full of dwarves. Each year it was a different few members of the party gathered on his doorstep but they always kept their promise.

            When Frodo comes to stay with him, he accepts his uncle’s strange house guests well and they accept him just as well. Happy that their Hobbit is no longer alone in Bag End. It’s always a wonderful sightseeing the young hobbit with his friends. For years they spoil the boy rotten, Bofur says it was similar when Fili and Kili were young. That warms Bilbo’s heart to its core. Everything seems more bearable now that he has the young one in his home. To have someone to share in the simple things like meals and quiet sits besides the fire.

            His love for books grows again and he builds up quite a massive collection. Though there are several that he takes back to market with him. Stories of romance that survives all hardship he grows a severe distaste for. The tales of elves who love men and keep their loves prickle Bilbo. Frodo always asks why he dislikes them, the older always tells him because they are childish. He never lies to Frodo, but he never tells his heir about his love of Thorin. No matter the years that pass it still feels too raw and to painful to tell. It seems so fragile that if he spoke it out loud it would escape him like so much smoke. That short time that he was loved by a King and welcome to the family line of Durin. No, that was his story and for him alone.

            Bilbo sees Ori, Balin and Oin the last time before they head to Moria. Ori talks excitedly about all of the things there are to find within and what he would bring back to Erebor. Still so full of hope and wonder after all he has seen. They only stay a few days and it's the last he sees of them. Only to find out their fate all those years later.

            Shortly after that the visits dwindle to nothing and he gets his news of them from Gandalf. The summer before his 111th birthday Bilbo decides that he will return to Erebor. He has pushed fate to stay alive this long and he wishes to see the city in all its splendor once. He wishes to see Thorin again, to tell him of all that’s happened since he last stood in the tomb. To say his last goodbyes to his King. When he sets off after the party he is truly sorry that he never makes it farther than Rivendell. Without the Ring his age catches up to him quickly. He knows that it was better of him to give up the Ring, knows the evil of it and when it is finally gone he feels clear of a haze that had unknowingly clung to him for years.

            Age robs him of much, some days he cannot remember his adventures or his company. Then his fingers touch the blades still at his hip and he can remember them. Wonders what they would think could they see him now. A wrinkled old thing that could not walk without the aid of a good walking stick or steady hand. Unable to ride a pony on his last journey thru Middle Earth.

            The honor of going to the Gray Havens and beyond to the Undying Lands with the elves. Now sitting in that boat, looking out into the water he wonders if he made the right choice. If he could not die he may never see them again. He had been strong for so long trying to live the life that Thorin and his nephews would have wanted for him. He wanted so strongly as he wanted to see Thorin again. With his back leaning against the cushions they had given him for the voyage, his hand touching the ring that he had worn at his neck throughout the years and the sound of the crashing waves around him. Bilbo Baggins closed his eyes to rest them and his tired mind. Letting the darkness of his eyelids take him.

            From somewhere within that darkness, he heard a familiar voice call out. “Bilbo.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. It's my first in a long time. I currently working on another fic in the Hobbit universe. No idea as too when it'll be finished, but keep an eye out.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in a really long time. Please be gentle with me. I wasn't even going to finish it, but I started typing it and it consumed my life.


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